Greeting Gestures

This article has been published in June 2025 newsletter

“Moien” thrown like fish hooks into a sea of ​​people who would otherwise ignore you.

Rebuilding a network of automathic greetings.

Growing up in small places, greeting by passers is almost second nature.

We walk a lot, and we greet relatives, acquaintances, neighbors, elderly sitting in the park.

A nod, a raised hand, a simple word.

We go out, we move, we greet. In a trivial and almost automatic sociality that is assumed and taken for granted.

You know the baker, the greengrocer and even at the supermarket cashier quickly becomes a concrete presence.

Yesterday I went for a walk with S.'s mother, and after seeing me greeting good morning to yet another delivery man we passed on the street, she said "Look, you don't have to say good morning to just anyone!"

And I thought that when you move, especially if you move abroad, you completely lose the network.

You find yourself a number, in line at an unknown post office, without the person in front of you having the slightest idea of ​​who you are, in a mutual ignorance that makes you impatient and a little grey.

Now that summer is here and the hours of light here quickly become embarrassing, I also understand how big the network that I rebuilt in these years has become.

Leaving the house to do some errands, I greet S.'s father who has grown a beard.

I meet V. in her splendid form. I stop for a moment with the neighbours, and I ask how their son's wedding, celebrated a few days ago, went.

The shop assistant smiles at me, and comments on how my daughter has grown in the last few weeks.

A package has arrived, and the gesture of bringing it in and notifying the neighbour is almost automatic.

And yes, I say hello to the delivery guy, who, in the end, also lives an alienating life and is certainly an immigrant, or as they say here “Expat”.

I find myself once again at the centre of an automatic sociality, actually cultivated over the years, among “Moien” thrown like fish hooks into a sea of ​​people who would otherwise ignore you.

I say bye once again, and I rejoice in how wide this network has become, how precious and fragile the work that wove it is. And how lucky I am to be at the centre.

I look at S.'s mother, smile at her and answer: “I'm not forced, but it's in my nature”

See you soon with other stories from the woods